


"How the fuck did we end up here?"

by fireandhoney



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, Angry John, Angst, Canon Compliant, Idiots in Love, John and Mary are married, Lost Love, M/M, Reichenbach Fall, too late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandhoney/pseuds/fireandhoney
Summary: John's thoughts
Relationships: Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 2





	"How the fuck did we end up here?"

How the fuck did we get there, Sherlock?  
What happened?  
Where did we go so wrong?  
Why did you have to leave? Why did you have to fake being dead for two fucking years? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you give me a sign, any fucking sign, to let me know you weren't dead?  
Why did you accept all the shit I gave you? Why didn't you fight back? Why did you let me push you away?  
Did you really believe me? Did you really think I was happy with her? Of course you didn't. The Great Sherlock Holmes, who knows everything. You knew, you obviously knew how fucking miserable I was. How I was just trying to move on to pretend everything was fine. I was trying to survive. I was trying to cope with your death. Your fake death.  
I had to find something to keep me here, Sherlock. To keep me alive.  
Because losing you…  
Losing you was the worst thing I've ever gone through.  
You know what my life was like before I met you. You know I considered it daily. You know I woke up every day wondering if that was the day I would finally end it all.  
Well, it all came back. You saved my life in more ways than you could ever understand, Sherlock Holmes. But you almost took it back. I was so close, Sherlock. So close. 

Greg saw. Greg knew. He kept trying to invite me out. I went, at once, but it quickly became too much. I couldn't deal with all the pity. The sad looks, God, fuck those. Everyone kept treating me like a child, being oh so careful, so cautious around me. I couldn't even tolerate Mrs Hudson, although all she did was cry, so you can't really blame me there. 

Even Mycroft contacted me. Twice. Once, when he noticed I wasn't going back to Baker Street. He let me know you'd secured the flat's rent and I didn't have to worry about money. But money wasn't the issue. Money was so far from my mind. Baker Street was our place. Baker Street was our home, ours. I couldn't stay there. I couldn't keep walking into nothingness. I couldn't keep making tea for one. I couldn't keep waking up to the silence, the fucking deadly silence. Baker Street is nothing without you. Without your violin and the body parts and case files tacked to the wall and everything annoying about you that makes the place alive. Baker Street is adrenaline and adventure and living. I couldn't stay there without you. 

So I moved out. And then, and then what was my life? I had a flat. I woke up, went to work, came back. Every day the same. Waking up, work, nothing. Every day the same full, boring shit. I couldn't, it was back to square one, but in worse. 

Because now I knew what life could be. I knew all its potential, potential for happiness, for adventure, for friendship. And all I could think about was you, us. Our potential. We always played around it, didn't we? We walked around everything that wasn't comfortable. We avoided it while still fully acknowledging how we were avoiding it. It'd been ridiculous. Oh yes, I've had much time to think about it, Sherlock. I had two full years of thinking you were dead to think about it. And then almost a full year of living with her, to realize just how fucking wrong everything in my life was compared to how everything felt right with you. 

Why did you let me marry her? Why didn't you say something? I tried, Sherlock. I tried so hard. I tried every time I came by Baker Street. I tried by text. I tried silently. I tried on my stag night. But I'm a coward. I'm a bloody coward. The brave soldier, right? Ha, what a fucking lie. I'm bold, reckless, but I'm not brave. I'm weak, so weak. But you weren't, you aren't. I'm so sorry. 

I fucked up, I fucked up bad, and I ruined us. I ruined us. Would you have left, if I'd told you how I felt? If I'd told you then, would you have told me? Would it have changed things before it was too late? Before we lost each other? Before life started spiraling into the absolute shitshow it became? 

What if I hadn't pushed you away? What if I hadn't denied it every time someone mentioned it? What if I'd said something about Battersea? What if you'd said something after Battersea? We both knew, we both knew, and we said nothing. We just accepted the status quo. I was satisfied with having you, I never even considered… I never considered I would lose you.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weakness for writing these two idiots being angry at each other or themselves for missing all their chances


End file.
